


Unforeseen Answer

by bold_seer



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Ambiguous Time, Dreams vs. Reality, Ficlet, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-03 04:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: She was looking for someone else.





	Unforeseen Answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).

> _I’m disoriented, I’m not sure where I am. I mean, I know where I am, but it feels odd being here._  
\- Annie, 2x18

There’s a man in a suit. His coat beside him, a cup of coffee in front of him. The scene is familiar, but she’s wearing a nice dress. Too nice; she likes simple things the best. Feeling unlike herself, she walks up to him, determined steps - convent to real world, real world to - where to - and touches his shoulder. But when he turns, it’s not anyone she knows.

She sees, then, that he doesn’t have dark hair. It’s sandy like her own. He’s good-looking, not luminous. He could be a good man, she thinks. Good enough. He isn’t sunny. She was looking for someone else.

He nods at her, understands. Something about him seems tired. The coffee, too, is old, sticking like gum to the cup. She wonders if he just arrived, before she did. If it’s someone else’s leftovers; someone else’s mess to clean up. (Someone else’s eggs in the frying pan; someone else’s smile and happy ending.) Or if he’s leaving soon.

“I’m Annie,” she says. It comes out syllable by syllable. Stuck in her throat, she plucks them out, one by one. “Have you been here long?”

“It’s late,” he replies, as if he means it’s _too late_. He has a soft, drowsy way of speaking. Maybe it is his coffee, been there a while. He doesn’t grab his coat to get up. Maybe he’s waiting for someone to join him. Someone who isn’t her.

She remembers another room. There was music. “A woman was dancing. No one was dancing with her.” She considers the man, familiar in that universal sense. Lacking a partner, he isn’t necessarily waiting for a woman. Wavering between certainty and questions, she adds, “It’s early.”

He looks up, something sad in his eyes. “My watch isn’t with me. We parted. I have to wait for the right time.”

She used to play that role. She doesn’t have to now, wait on anyone. Can, if she chooses to. Trace her own steps. “I should find her again. Unless you want me to wait with you.”

It’s a weird offer for a stranger, but she’s weird. Everyone is. In these parts, this place.

He looks at her, bemused smile, like he’ll be all right, waiting by himself. Not like he’s given up. She hopes he’ll be there for him, whoever he is, though she doesn’t know if he’s waiting for a man either.

Maybe she will be, too.


End file.
